Strength of Solitude
by Verdreht
Summary: All his life, Aoshi has worked to be the best. But what happens when that obsession, and the expectations of those he cares about, become too much for the young man to handle? And what does Saito have to do with anything? YAOI AoishixSaitou
1. Chapter 1

_ The rain beat down heavily on wilting shoulders, rolling in drops down the beige trench coat that clothed the tall, slender form. Reflected moonlight glimmered against a long piece of polished wood clutched in elegant fingers, moving slightly in time with the figure's long-legged strides. _

_ Down the street, he continued, eyes fixated straight ahead in a thousand mile stare that suggested his mind was wandering elsewhere. And in fact, it was; back to the place he once called home, back to the girl who followed and obsessed over him, back to the people who took and expected so much of him…back to the old man, like a father to him, who thought so little of him. _

_ He let his thoughts carry him as he walked the rainy road, past the inns and their beckoning warmth, past the restaurants and their beckoning scents…_

_ He stopped. There was a voice on the wind – someone crying out for help. _

_ Pianist hands clenched both ends of the polished wood – a sheath – and the figure took off at a run, his long legs carrying him quickly to the source of the sound. A group of men in an alley. He would have laughed at the irony, had he been feeling particularly wry. _

_ Instead, he frowned. "You should be going now," he said, voice carrying clearly despite its soft, quiet tenor. There was a sharpness there, hidden beneath the smooth tones. _

_ All of the men instantly turned, disregarding the young girl they had previously herded against the wall of the alley. There were five of them, simple thugs. _

_ "Oh yeah, and who's gonna make us, pretty boy?" the biggest one of them sneered. The figure ticked him off as the leader of the group. He would be the first to go if things turned violent, then. _

_ But, he hoped to avoid that. He'd been traveling for a month almost, never stopping, never resting, only training and moving forward. Fighting was a part of that, and with his wounds from his time even before he began his travels, not to mention those he continued to accumulate, wearing on his body, he was not in any shape to fight. _

_ That said, when, after a small chuckle from the slender man, the group of thugs rushed him, the figure was already in motion, pulling a blade free from the sheathe he carried…_

_ At both ends. _

Saito sighed, smoke escaping his lips in a wispy tendril to curl around his head and dissipate. It was dark outside already, and he was still stuck at the police station, trapped behind his desk doing paper work.

_Paperwork…_ he thought with a snarl, _the only evil I know that I have yet to slay._ And of course, that was only because no matter how you sliced it – and he meant that _quite_ literally – there was always more of it waiting for you than you could possibly dispatch. If Shishio thought he was scary, he'd obviously not had to file an accident report for a subordinate getting stabbed through the foot…again.

He chuckled lightly at the memory. As far as anyone knew, it had been an accident, and that was just how it was going to stay.

The sound of a knock on the door shook him out of his reverie, and he sat forward, pen in hand to scribble a few more lines on his paper with a short "enter."

The door slid open and in walked a blustering officer Choji. The man had only just started at the station a week or so prior, and any time Saito saw him – or perhaps it was any time _he_ saw _Saito_ – the man always seemed to forget how to _not_ look like an idiot.

"S-sir!" the young blunderbuss saluted, snapping his feet together in a way that would have been comical…if it wasn't the thousandth time he'd done it. It was funny the first time, it was annoying the second time, and let's just say that by this point, Saito was strongly considering another "accidental" stab wound.

Saito lowered his gaze back to the paper at his desk disinterestedly. Unless he was planning an interpretive dance to relay his message, Saito decided he could do it just fine without eye contact.

Not amused didn't even begin to describe it as Choji continued to blabber endlessly, never once showing any sign of actually getting to the point.

Finally, with very measured, _non_-homicidal movements, he sat his pen down, folding his hands across his desk and raising his gaze to meet Choji's. The fellow was already blue in the face.

"Choji, if you have a point, snap to it. If you don't, get out," he said. His voice was completely calm, but a certain degree of malice flashed in his eyes. As oblivious as he was, at least the young officer didn't miss that.

Choji snapped himself back up, back straight as a board. "Yes sir, sorry sir!" he exclaimed. Saito did his best to quell his murderous instinct, but he couldn't stop his left hand from twitching, just once, into a shape that looked just about right for the grip of a sword. "There's a report of a disturbance in the east district, two blocks down from the Aoibeko."

Finally informed of his next assignment, Saito stood. "Thank you, Choji, I'll take care of it," he said, taking his sword from its position propped against his desk and sliding it through the loop on his belt.

Choji had already taken his leave before Saito even reached the door, and was nowhere to be seen as Saito exited the office, slipping into his shoes and stepping out into the rain. He felt his eyebrow tick lightly in annoyance as the onslaught of rain hit him hard and fast, plastering his hair to his head.

_Oh well,_ he thought, running a gloved hand back through it to push it up and out of the way. Rain was simply water – it wasn't like he cared. An inconvenience, but not an intolerable one.

He was in no particular hurry as he walked. He could cover two normal paces with one step, so even taking his time he was going faster than most.

He reached the specified location quickly enough, slowing his stride to proceed with a little more caution than he had been. It was quiet, and there was no one around – highly unusual for a reported disturbance. Usually, he would have to fight his way through a crowd of rubberneckers to get to the scene, and there would be swearing and spitting, and all other sorts of recreational violence. This time though, there was nothing.

He thought that perhaps everyone had simply run, but then a smell caught his nose. _Blood,_ he realized, turning into the alley.

To say that the sight before him was unexpected would be a rash understatement. Because Saito had expected a lot of things. He had a lot of possibilities already in consideration, from the rubberneckers to the runners, he had expected a wide variety of scenarios, and was entirely prepared for every single one of them.

And of course, there were certain parts of the scene that were entirely plausible to him. It wasn't wholly unexpected to see five men sprawled out on the ground in wholly undignified positions, blood mixing with the rain though their chests rose and fell.

What he had _not_ been expecting – what had not even entered the realm of his thinking as a possibility – was to see a startlingly familiar beige trench coat, loosely fitted to a figure sitting propped against the wall. Long legs stretched out into the alley, one bent at the knee with a slender wrist resting upon it. Against that hand lay a single long sheathe that stretched from the floor of the alley to the connecting wall of it, just beside a lowered head.

Saito stepped in closer, noticing the distinct stiffening of the figure. That was good, he wasn't dead. His breathing, now that Saito looked, seemed stable, despite occasional hitches that Saito wasn't even sure he was actually hearing.

Droplets of rain dripped from strands of blue-black hair to join their brethren soaking the warrior's clothing.

"Fancy seeing you here," Saito said, stepping forward just as a pair of hazel green eyes snapped up to match his gaze, "Aoshi Shinomori."


	2. Chapter 2

Aoshi looked up at him, his eyes searching and calculating. Those eyes never failed to amaze Saito, how they could be so passionate, but so empty. How they could see everything, beyond those things that were hidden, beyond, it seemed, what even Saito himself could see. It was a shame, he decided, that this man had never had a chance to fight in the revolution.

_Then again,_ he thought, _maybe it's a blessing he didn't._ The war had changed people, and though it would be hypocritical to say that he disliked it, he wouldn't go so far as to say that it would change everyone for the better.

A loud clap of thunder snapped Saito from his considerations. Aoshi, however, gave a slightly more violent reaction. He didn't give a start, or anything dramatic, but for the briefest of moments, Saito saw his eyes widen and his fingers grip the sheath in his hands.

He knew the story…he had heard it from the Battousai. Knowing what had happened to the young fighter, he couldn't blame a reaction to anything that sounded like gunfire.

As if spurred on by the thunder, the rain began pounding harder and faster. Saito was alright, dry under the relatively water proof jacket he wore. Aoshi, however, was in no such condition. His trench coat couldn't protect him from the water seeping into his pants, or down his neck to soak his shirt.

To Saito's surprise though, the man didn't do anything to escape the torrential downpour. He just sat there, not really moving. He even turned his gaze away from Saito, resting his head back against the wall and staring up at the raining sky as if he could see something there that no one else could. Something that saddened him.

It was, Saito realized, alarming. He didn't know why, but he got the sudden, irrepressible _need_ to remove that look from his face. He was never really one to deny his instincts, so with little further ado, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"There is a nice restaurant two blocks down," he said offhandedly, as if he were merely making a casual observation. "I wouldn't mind getting something to eat."

But Aoshi didn't take the hint; didn't even make to move from his position against the wall. He just stared up at the weeping sky, letting it soak into his clothes.

Saito wondered briefly if Sanosuke got as annoyed as he was when Saito ignored him. Well, no, probably not. Saito's was a different sort of annoyance. It was almost…fond exasperation.

_What?_ he asked himself. Where on Earth had that come from?

Shaking his head, he decided he needed a drink…and voila, inspiration!

"I was thinking about getting a drink. Drinking alone is rather boring though, wouldn't you agree?" _Then again,_ he thought,_ he's probably just the type to drink alone._

"I don't drink," Aoshi said finally, the first words he'd spoken the entire time. The silky tenor of his voice caught Saito off guard – he remembered it being a little more scratchy. There was still the masculine rasp present, but his tone was so clear; it was a voice made to _make_ you listen to every word he said.

Of course, considering he was a leader of the Oniwaban, he supposed that was a tool of the trade.

"You don't drink?" Saito asked, veering away from his reveries. He was starting to get annoyed at himself, all this wandering off.

Aoshi's lips quirked into a sort of wry smile. "I have no tolerance," he said, and there was a sort of levity in his voice – like he was laughing at himself. "Tea is the limit of my drinking exploits."

Saito snorted at that, but a subtle grin split across his lips all the same. "Tea it is then." And to his surprise, he held out a hand for the other man. He had no idea why, but he was relieved when Aoshi clasped his hand in the offered one, and pushed himself up.

Seeing him standing like that, Saito noticed a few things. One, he stood a few inches taller than Aoshi. Two, the other male was soaking wet, and the water weighing down his clothes made them cling to his skin, showing off just how slender the ninja really was. And three…

There was something really, really wrong.

He tried to shrug the feeling off as the hand released his and retreated to a pocket of the large coat Aoshi seemed to always wear. Not wanting to stand around in the rain, Saito set off towards the restaurant, confident that the other would follow him.

"Saito," Aoshi began, "aren't you here about the disturbance?" Saito raised an eyebrow. Part of him was impressed that Aoshi guessed, and the other part was suspicious.

"You mean the disturbance you caused?" Saito returned, eyes flashing.

Aoshi's shoulders gave a spasm with an exhalation of air that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. "Yes," he said, "that one."

Saito glanced back at the alley to see the men lying on the ground, still unconscious. "I think they can wait." He noticed Aoshi glance back at the men, and smirked a little. "And yes, the girl is fine."

The release of tension in Aoshi's shoulders wasn't exactly blatant, no, but Saito picked up on it, and allowed himself a mental pat on the back. Aoshi wasn't the only one that knew how to read situations, or people, and for some reason, though everything he had heard about the man suggested otherwise, sometimes, he was just too easy to read.

Before he could continue that train of thought, they reached the Akabeko. Like the perfect gentleman he was, Saito slid the door open, gesturing for Aoshi to proceed inside before joining him inside the stove-heated warmth that was the Akabeko.

Well, okay, he might have had ulterior motives. He wanted to be able to watch Aoshi – to see if he had been right in thinking that there was in fact something wrong with the younger man. The way he held himself so tensely might have suggested it, but such things could be written off rather easily as something else entirely. It was unusual for a seasoned fighter to be constantly on edge.

And there! As Aoshi took the first few steps, following the waitress, Saito saw what he was looking for. It was the smallest of things, barely noticeable, but as he watched, he noticed Aoshi was favoring his left leg. It wasn't a limp, no. It was the way his left shoulder tensed with each step on that foot he took, like he was steeling himself for pain each time he put pressure on it.

But there remained the question of what to do about it. _It's not my problem,_ Saito told himself, but…

"What can I get you two gentlemen?"

Saito turned his gaze to the waitress, pushing that thought to the side for the time as he ordered his usual. "Soba noodles and sake for myself," he told her. She nodded, and they both turned to look at Aoshi.

Aoshi pushed the menu forward without even glancing at it. "Tea, please," he said, folding his hands in front of him.

The waitress knotted her eyebrows, her head tipping to the side. "Don't you want something to eat, hun?"

Aoshi smiled a little, that "I'm trying to be pleasant, but please leave me be" smile, and his mouth formed his reply. "N—."

"He'll have noodles as well," Saito interrupted, gathering up the menus and handing them to the waitress with his own charming smile. He saw her blush, eyes darting from Saito to Aoshi, before disappearing into the kitchen.

When he turned back to Aoshi, the other was regarding him with a look that appeared to be a mix of frustration and curiosity.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked.

Saito shrugged. "Probably not, but you're in a restaurant, and I'm guessing you haven't eaten today. So now I ask you, was it really _un_necessary?" A wicked flicker passed his eyes, matched by one in Aoshi's, and he found himself reveling in the feeling. A conversation with someone intelligent, strong-willed, and, frankly rather amusing, was something to be enjoyed. And he planned to do just that.

"At least tell me the soba is good," Aoshi replied, and Saito noticed the tension in his shoulders, though only slightly, was beginning to lift. Color was starting to return to his face, and light was starting to return to his eyes.

Saito didn't answer immediately, pausing in the conversation as their respective drinks were put on the table in front of them. When the waitress left, he didn't see any big reason to pick the conversation up immediately. He just poured himself some sake. Across from him, Aoshi stared at his tea, fingers idly tracing over the patterns on the pot.

"Not thirsty?" Saito asked, tipping back the dish of sake and setting it back on the table empty. It wasn't particularly impressive sake, but the burn on the back of his throat was pleasant nonetheless.

Aoshi quirked an eyebrow, and took a break from tracing the floral on the kettle to point at it. "Not steeped," he replied, mirth dancing lightly in his eyes despite the deadpan tone of his voice. Yes, Saito decided, he could certainly get use to having this guy around.

_Wait, what?_

Before his mind could wander down any more unwanted paths, Saito took another draught of sake and changed the subject.

"So, for the sake of conversation, what brings you to Tokyo?" he asked, feigning disinterest. It wasn't like he was dying to know or anything, but he couldn't deny that he was curious. Last he'd heard, Aoshi was happy and homebound back in Kyoto, safe and sound. Yet here he was, getting into fights in Tokyo half starved and reeking of unrest. It was worth looking in to.

But Aoshi didn't seem to hear him. He had apparently decided that his tea had percolated acceptably, and was pouring himself a cup of it with concentration that was one hundred percent unmerited for the task. But even then, as he tried to hide it, he looked uncomfortable. Apparently, his poker face was more of a battle tool than an everyday attribute. Or maybe he was just off his game.

Saito knew _he_ was.


	3. Chapter 3

Aoshi lifted the teapot, keeping the wince that fought to surface pressed carefully away from his face. _Perhaps accepting Saito's offer was not the best idea, _he thought to himself, glancing across the table at the golden-eyed man. _Then again…_

Aoshi didn't realize that he was staring, his eyes now fixed ahead on Saito. He wasn't quite sure why, but he was captivated. He had laughed with this man, for the first time in ages. He had relaxed…he hadn't realized how nice it was…not to fail to live up to someone's expectations.

It was about that time, with that realization, that everything went to hell.

With a shout, the waitress carrying their food tripped, spilling food forward onto their table. Aoshi, startled by the sudden noise and movement, jerked back. Between the weight of the kettle and the speed of the movement, Aoshi's arm gave a painful spasm and he dropped the pot, its contents spilling out onto the table.

Having held the pot, Aoshi knew just how hot it was, and he did _not_ want the steaming liquid falling into his lap. Being castrated by his favorite drink wasn't something he was interested in.

He lunged from the seat, but at that very moment, the waitress slipped and fell on the soba noodles scattered in the floor. She collided with Aoshi hard, knocking him to the ground and landing on top of him.

Saito had watched the whole ordeal with relative amusement, up until the point he heard the scream. A pained – no, _agonized_ scream tore from Aoshi's throat, and Saito followed the younger man's hands to his leg. He gripped it tightly, as if the pressure from his fingers could stop the pain that had drained every last ounce of color from his face.

The waitress apologized profusely and stood up as quickly as she could. Aoshi did as well, but unlike the waitress, Saito saw his pupils dilate in a way that was quickly identifiable. He was about to pass out, but still he stayed on his feet.

Saito sought to rectify that. "Aoshi, sit down before-."

Aoshi cut him off, slamming some money down onto the table. "I have to go," he said shortly with a voice that clearly announced its owner was fighting back the pressing need to hurl. Whatever had just happened to Aoshi wasn't good. He'd seen the fighter take a direct hit from Shishio and not let out a cry like the one he just had.

Somehow though, Aoshi was able to run, albeit lacking the grace Saito would expect from someone of his caliber.

Saito quickly stood up, not bothering to put any money on the table, but grabbing the jacket Aoshi had left behind as he ran after the retreating Oniwaban fighter.

Saito wouldn't have thought it possible, but it was raining even harder outside. Wind blew the harsh rain against his face, and he was glad that his jacket kept it out. Aoshi didn't have that luxury, a voice in the back of his head reminded him, which made it all the more important that he go after the man.

Luckily for him, Aoshi didn't get very far. Even in the dark of the evening, he spotted the deep violet of Aoshi's shirt. "Aoshi, stop!" Saito shouted after him. Instead of stopping, though, Aoshi picked up his pace.

So Saito did too, and unlike Aoshi, he could take his strides unhindered. He caught up with the smaller man, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind and turning him so that the momentum didn't make him jerk forward.

Regardless of Saito's attempt to smooth the stop, Aoshi's legs still slid out from under him in the slick mud. The older man could have held him up – he was startlingly light – but the pained gasp led him to think that it wasn't just Aoshi's leg that was injured. As gently as he could manage, he lowered Aoshi to the muddy ground, pulling him back a little so that his leg rested straight out in front of him.

The younger man gripped Saito's arms, trying to pull himself free, but he wasn't strong enough. Or maybe, Saito thought, he was just too injured.

"Sit still, Aoshi," Saito commanded, holding him firmly as he struggled to free himself. "You're not going anywhere, so just sit still." He could feel Aoshi steadily tensing, hear the rasping breaths he exhaled growing steadily more strained. He was hurting himself, just try to get free from a grip he should've been able to break with ease. Saito could _feel_ the other man's desperation, his panic, and he had no idea what was causing it.

Still, whether he knew the cause or not, he knew it had to stop. Tightening his grip as much as he could in one arm without hurting him, so that he could free up the other. "Sorry about this," he muttered quietly, slipping his fingertips against the strangely warm skin of Aoshi's neck.

"What are you—" A quick pinch of Saito's fingers into a pressure point silenced Aoshi's exclamation before he got a chance to finish it, and the young fighter went limp against Saito's chest.

Sighing, Saito released him and slid his own jacket from his shoulders. The youth was shivering, even in his unconsciousness, and his clothes were all soaked. It wasn't good for him, especially not with the fever he seemed to have.

Saito let Aoshi's limp form fall against his chest, and wrapped his own jacket around his slender shoulders. His tan overcoat was soaked through and through – putting that on him would do more harm than good. Hopefully though, Saito's jacket would protect him from at least some of the elements.

He went to turn Aoshi around so that he could pick him up, but when he shifted his body away from his chest, something caught his eye. His shirt, which had been pristinely white when he'd left the shop, was now stained red across the front. And it certainly wasn't his blood.

"No time to waist then," he said to himself, sliding an arm behind Aoshi's shoulders, and another under his knees. He was so light, he realized as he lifted him off the ground, even soaked and muddy as he was.

Saito pushed the door to his complex open with his foot and hurried into the guest bedroom. He didn't know why he kept it up – he never had guests since he and Tokio had broken it off – but he was glad now that he did.

As gently as he could manage, he laid the slender figure in his arms on the bed in the room, then got up to light some of the lights in the room.

Now that he could see, he grabbed his box of medicine, too large now to be referred to as a first aid kit, and returned to Aoshi's side, dropping to his knees with a knife in hand. He unwrapped his jacket from him first, and then set about removing the rest of his clothes, starting with his shirt.

He didn't get past the shirt before he realized that this was way beyond his skill level as far as treatment went. The parts of Aoshi's torso that weren't caked in the blood oozing from a large gash across his front were a sick mottling of green and purple – almost black. His rib cage bent inwards at an unnatural angle on the right side, the disfiguration stretching up into his shoulder as well. Saito hoped the shoulder was only dislocated, but from the way the bone prodded against the inside of the skin, he was going to think not.

A sudden stab of fear took Saito by surprise. What was he afraid of? He couldn't think of anything...but…the labored breathing, the pale skin, the shivers, and the gore tormenting the somehow still beautiful man…That, he realized, was what he was afraid of; Aoshi. Or more specifically, what could happen to Aoshi; what was well on the way to happening.

Cursing himself, he stood up, running for the door with speed gifted by his long legs. When he reached the door to his compound, he scanned the street outside. Finally, he spotted what he was looking for.

Cupping a gloved hand to his mouth, he shouted for the courier to come over, waiting impatiently as the young man ran his way. "I need you," he said when the boy reached him, "to go to the Oguni Clinic and fetch either Doctor Gensai, or Megumi Takani. Bring them here, tell them it is an emergency, that a man will die if he isn't treated quickly." He dug some money out of his pocket and shoved it into the boy's hand. "You'll get the rest if you get them here in time."

That was all it took for the messenger, it seemed, and he took off like hell itself was after him. Saito wasn't slow either, running back inside and dropping to his knees next to Aoshi's still unconscious form. Blood was still seeping from the wound on his chest, and it didn't look like it was going to be slowing down anytime soon.

He frowned and grabbed some clean rags and long strips of cloth from his medicine box. "I hope you're really unconscious, Aoshi," he muttered, more to himself than anything, and pressed one of the cloths against the wound hard. Aoshi's face twisted, and a groan escaped his lips, but he didn't wake up, even as Saito lifted him up a little and tied a strip of cloth tight over the rag to hold it in place. Hopefully, that would be enough to slow the bleeding until the doctor came.

With that wound secured, he thought that Aoshi would be okay. He noticed a few moments later though, that for some reason, the bloodstain on the sheet was still spreading, almost as quickly as it had been before. It seemed to be focused around his lower body, and with a frown, he reached for the belt of Aoshi's pants. He could cut away the actual pants, but the belt, he thought, might come in handy if he had to stop any more bleeding.

Belt gone, he made fast work of the rest of Aoshi's coverings, leaving him bare. It wasn't something that bothered Saito – nothing he hadn't seen a hundred times before, if not more – but for the sake of Aoshi's decency, he covered his waist before he continued. The wound, it seemed, was on the inside of Aoshi's left thigh, rather high, so Saito ended up having to tuck the cloth between his legs like a sort of half loin-cloth so that he could see the wound.

And what a wound it was. It stretched from the back of Aoshi's thigh, around to just a few inches below his highly pronounced hip bone. Saito tried to move the leg so that he could see the rest of the damage, but the moment he attempted to shift the deadweight, he felt a strange but not entirely unfamiliar popping. That drew his attention away from the gash long enough for him to noticed the rest of the leg.

It was one big mess of bruises, and from the looks of it, broken bones. Cuts littered the skin like he'd run through barbed wire, and Saito couldn't believe the man had been walking on it that whole time.

Come to think of it, just how the _hell_ had he been upright? Then again, the way he'd fallen in the restaurant, Saito wondered if maybe everything had been stable enough before. He hadn't staggered like he did after the restaurant when the two of them were walking in together.

He shook his head. He didn't have time to be thinking about things like that. Not when blood was still spilling out of Aoshi's leg like water from a stream. It wasn't that bad, but it was enough.

Grimacing, he wrapped another cloth around the inside of his leg, then looped Aoshi's belt around it, pulling it tight. This time, it was more than a groan. He very nearly screamed in his sleep, his back arching off the cot and his body twisting. Saito quickly held him down, and though his body didn't exactly relax, he stilled.

Now that he no longer had to worry about his charge bleeding to death, Saito was able to take a moment to take it all in. His eyes scanned up and down the abused body, calculating, considering. What could have been done to make each of those wounds? What could have lead up to the head of the Oniwaban wandering by himself in Tokyo, battered and beaten? What could have accounted for the fearful look in his eye, not when faced with a fight, but faced with another human being?

All of the questions ran rampant in his head, until the moment the door to his compound slid open. "In here!" he called, and waited. There was no reply, but footsteps came his way, until the door to the room slid open, revealing none other than Megumi Takani.

Her eyes focused on the sight before her immediately, and they went wide. She stood stock still, staring at the panting, still form in front of her.

"Takani!" Saito shouted after a moment, hoping to shake her out of her daze. "Whatever your problem is, deal with it later. He needs a doctor, not a fucking audience!"

That seemed to do it, and with a tight set of her jaw, Megumi Takani set into action.


End file.
